


Opus No. 3

by talia_ae



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Budapest, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talia_ae/pseuds/talia_ae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens in Budapest: nothing ever happens in Budapest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opus No. 3

This is what happens in Budapest: nothing ever happens in Budapest.  
  
It’s a mission that turns out to be a dud; bad intel or maybe they made too much noise coming over, whichever it is, they show up to empty hotel rooms and looted weapons caches and a whole lot of missing people where there should be enemies.  
  
“So we’re not reporting back to Coulson,” Clint says, surveying their very luxurious, very expensive hotel suite. They’re booked in as Daniel and Mariska Shreve, art dealers, and Natasha has the jewelry and clothing to match. “He can come and retrieve us.”  
  
“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside,” Natasha says, but she doesn’t disagree.  
  
(There are a lot of perks to being wealthy American art dealers, even if Clint’s carryon bag had to be filled with Intro to Art History textbooks because he has no idea who the fuck any of these people are  
  
and Natasha only knows Russian literature, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky and ever-shifting regimes).  
  
They get two weeks.  
  
They drink coffee in the mornings and Natasha wears a ridiculous hat and sunglass ( _outdoors_ , Clint, that’s how you’re _supposed_ to do it) and his bow stays in the case the entire time. Her knives are tucked into heels and garters and hems, but they never get used.  
  
They kiss under a full moon and take full advantage of every room in that ridiculous suite. They eat and drink wine and look at art.  
  
(She allows herself to think of a future free of codenames and leather and war).  
  
It could have gone on forever.  
  
(“I’d let it,” Clint whispers, even though he couldn’t and she couldn’t and they _can’t_ ; it’s a dream that curls up at the edges).  
  
It could have, but it doesn’t, because two weeks later, Tony Stark (loose cannon, Natasha thinks) goes off like a bullet and a man straight out of mythology crash-lands in the Southwest.


End file.
